


when comes winter (build me to the heavens)

by solitariusvirtus, tenten_d



Series: flight of the dragon [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Invasion, Multi, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6322438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenten_d/pseuds/tenten_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dragon takes wing and with its flames sets the realm ablaze. It has come the time to play again the game of thrones as winter sets in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when comes winter (build me to the heavens)

“It has crossed my mind before,” Tyta tells him, arms around the sleeping babe of hers, “that she sings the song with such melancholy you’d wonder at her not knowing its meaning. Methinks ‘tis far more likely the girl pretends.”

Willas shrugs. It is not for him to say how much the Princess knows or knows not. “Yet she plays so well, we’ve been standing here for more than an hour.” The truth of it is that the Princess seldom allows herself to be heard. She’ll find some corner to practice the playing of her harp within and not come out until she is satisfied. On this occasion ‘tis the gardens’ corner. But on the morrow it may well be the maester’s tower. Although one suspects that Pycelle won’t be half as entertained by the sweet notes.

Next to Her Grace sits her older brother toying with a few blades of grass. With the lean cane next to him ‘tis easy to guess which one of the twins he is. And there is the small matter of the other brother keeping close company with the Stormlander maiden daughter to Lord Baratheon.

He wonders if she plays the song for her brother.

Before he can inspect the matter any closer, Tyta shifts her position, he elbow touching his arm and his eyes are on her. “Tell me, do you believe Jenny would find any fault with this rendition of her ballad?”

Tyta gives him a look. “The music is fair, ser, and the one who sings more so. Jenny of Oldstones wherever she is must feel blessed that she is remembered.” Even if only for a good deal of hardship born out of her love for a prince. “I should fear more that she believes herself to be living the words.”

With Targaryens one never knows. Willas sighs softly. “The coin is rarely still.” Princess Alysanna plucks another cord, her voice following the rise and fall. “And we rarely know how it falls until ‘tis much too late to do aught about it.” Prince Rhaegon’s unseeing eyes turn to the skies. Willas can see his lips moving and Alysanna gazes at him as well, her head falling in a nod, silver curls slipping over her shoulder as she does so.

“Do not speak such words,” his companion tells him. Willas gives her a smile. Always so careful, Tyta is. Except when it matters. His gaze falls to the child in her arms. “Do you not fear the rumours, my lady?” He doesn’t know himself whether he speaks of the Prince and Princess or if he refers to her and him and Lord Dayne. There is a wealth of voice ready to speculate upon the matter. Both of them, that is.

“More than you know. But there is little I can do to stop them from coming into existence.” Of course, the court will never let anything go. Willas’ attention reverts to the young brother and sister, noting that Rhaegon sits up now, one arm around his sister’s waist as he whispers something to her. The maiden laughs, cutting off her melody. “And you?” Tyta’s voice pulls him back.

“I find it best to pretend ignorance. ‘Tis far easier.” He wonders if Sansa would be able to tell him if he ought to worry or not over the King’s children. “But I, my lady, can easily survive a few mean words.”

It is her turn to sigh. “Not that again. I thought I had explained.” There is no real bite to it though, so he decides that she has not explained it enough for him. At the look he gives her, the Dornishman’s wife chooses to gaze away. “Is there naught else you’d wish to discuss?”

“Was it anger? Desperation?” They say friends ought to understand. But some things are much too intricate. This, for Willas is one of them; he wants to take it apart and put it back together. “Was it love then? The madness of the gods? What?”

The woman throws her head back with a laugh at his intimation. “A love of wine might be,” she allows, the child in her arms stirring. “I pitied him; how could I not when he looked so lost? And yet–”

“And yet you ought to have given him another sort of comfort. It is my hope that you should not wake to find yourself living a night terror.” He doesn’t suppose it’s the lack of love that puts him on edge; Willas is not such a child as to believe that every union is based upon such higher noble sentiments. Some of them are, as Tyta aptly proves, products of convenience and duty. But that is neither here nor there, he, at this very moment, cares about her marriage. “Go on.”

“I wished to say that,” she trails off, might be in search of words. “Never you mind. I do not think I meant to say anything after all.” Her gaze follows the beginning of another song. The Mother’s hymn. Why, the Princess is a little diplomat already. They chuckle at the coincidence. “See, ser, even Her Grace requests that you show me some compassion.”

“What need have you of my pity?” he questions back, making to take the child from her arms. “You have a lord husband for that.” She gives him the burden with nary a protest. How strange it is to be holding something so small, yet so important. Willas peers down into the boy’s face, searching for something of Tyta in it. “I believe it would be all the worse had he taken your colouring. Tongues would be waggling that much harder.” 

“It is good of us to have spared them. I would hate to be the cause any anyone’s injury.” She stretches her arms out lightly and requests the child back within moments. He wonders briefly if she thinks that parting from the babe long enough will have him buried as well. He returns the child to his mother and is once more paying attention to the other two who are still whispering although the Princess’ fingers move against the string of the harp.

This is a disaster waiting to happen, he considers, searching for those telltale signs. Alas, he finds little more than a general aura of affection. The issue is that they are fairly versed in acting vague enough to not raise enough suspicions but not quell them either. “You ought to have a care; these gossips rarely if ever mind about overtaxing the benevolence of their audience and their own credibility.”

“So I have heard,” she replies not without a drop of amusement. “But I doubt that which you are thinking about merits any suspicion at all. They are brother and sister. And they have long been close. Surely you cannot pretend to find any ill with this now.”

“I am not pretending.” He leans back in his seat and continued to observe the sister sitting up and dusting off her skirts. The bright green is almost like a beacon. He would say that even a blind man could see it; but it is more likely that Prince Rhaegon feels it rather, as she is standing so very close to him. After she is done, the Princess bends slightly and placed a hand on her brother’s shoulder, telling him something Willas still cannot make out.

The Prince stands to his feet as well and goes on to return her affectionate gesture to the best of his abilities. Whatever it is they have found is so important that they must discuss with great alacrity.

“Then do not think it at all,” Tyta offers. “’Tis like you and me; words are inconsequential in the face of the truth, are they not?”

”Only if it is the right manner of truth.” Mirroring the young Princess, he stands to his feet and helps Tyta along. “We were in great luck. They, however, might not be.”

His companion snorts in disbelief, ever an optimist. “Of that you shall have to convince me.”

“My pleasure.” They leave the two children.


End file.
